


Blame It on the Rain

by GutterBall



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Chuck Lives, Cussing, M/M, Post-Operation Pitfall, as close to fluff as I get, bit angsty, mention of other characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 10:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3973921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GutterBall/pseuds/GutterBall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck's trying to be a better person. He really is. But sometimes, it's easier to storm away from a situation, even if it's out into a literal storm. Luckily, Raleigh's there to drag him back.</p><p>Until all hell breaks loose right overhead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame It on the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Dammit, Raine. You can't just mention wanting stories about rain without releasing a legion of plot bunnies. Now go to your corner and think about what you've done.

"Dammit, Chuck! Get your stubborn ass back inside before I knock you out and drag you back in!"

Chuck's jaw clenched, his teeth gritting together, and he wondered briefly if he had finally surpassed even the great Raleigh Becket's patience. He'd been pushing -- sometimes intentionally and sometimes just because he was a bastard who didn't know how to _not_ push -- ever since everyone was ejected from Medical after Pitfall.

But now, he may have just reached his limit.

"I swear to God, Hansen, if you don't--"

"The fuck're you doin out here, Ray?" He refused to shiver in the cold downpour, so he damn near shouted the question to keep his voice steady. And, he admitted, to be heard over the storm. "I don't recall askin for company."

Silence from his old nemesis.

Refusing to look away from the lightning breaking over Hong Kong proper, he flinched against a frigid gust of torrent-filled wind and wished he hadn't been in such a goddamn hurry to get away from the mess hall that he'd stomped up to the observation deck in just his civvies. He should've at least stopped for his leather coat. The old, grey t-shirt did nothing to provide either warmth or protection from the elements he'd sought out.

Finally: "What the hell is wrong with you?"

His jaw clenched so hard he heard the muscle creak even through the cacophony surrounding him. When a hard-gripping hand clapped down on his shoulder to jerk him around, he had to fight every instinct to come around swinging. Luckily, instead of looking furious and ready for a fight, Becket just looked like a drowned dog who was pissed about it.

"This is a black signal storm, Chuck. If I hadn't followed you out here, they'd have already locked down the Shatterdome and you'd be stuck up here all damn night. If you're trying to literally drown your sorrows, why not just jump in the bay and do it the easy way?"

Part of him wanted to snort at the sopping wet mess Becket looked. Hair plastered to his skull, eyes slitted against the constant run of water down his face, stupid blue jumper plastered to his chest but dragging and dripping at the cuffs and hem, fatigues practically glued to his legs. Unfortunately, the rest of him was still too pissed off. He and his old man hadn't sniped at each other like that since--

"Goddammit, Chuck. What's it gonna take with you? Huh? What the fuck do you want from us?"

Lightning flashed directly overhead, and even he cringed away from it, ducking to shield his head and, without thinking, hauling Becket close under the dubious shelter of his shoulders as he hunched over. Thunder followed almost instantaneously, shaking the roof of the Shatterdome they stood on and driving them both to their knees.

When his senses stopped reeling, he realized his arms were around Becket and Becket was... shaking. Not shivering but actually _quaking_ against his chest, his breath coming in hitches and gasps.

Suddenly heedless of the driving storm cannonading around them, he tried to pull the bloke away just enough to get a read on him, only to find Becket nearly wall-eyed with panic.

Of all the goddamned times to have a fucking panic attack.

"Ray! Mate, you gotta--"

Another crack of lightning and instant thunder deafened him again, and while Becket had already been pale with the cold, any possible color fell out of that stricken face. His blue eyes were as blank and lifeless as marbles as the bloke stared and trembled and hyperventilated, hands clutching Chuck's arms as Chuck held him just far enough away to get a good, hard look.

Raleigh Becket was no longer with him. Unless he missed his guess, Raleigh Becket was miles away and years ago, chasing the RABIT with no one to pull him out of his godforsaken memories. Chuck cursed as he hauled them both to their feet and all but manhandled the wanker toward the roof access latch he'd climbed through not fifteen minutes before.

It took some doing, but he maneuvered them both down to the catwalk and sealed the hatch behind them, then sat them both down to take inventory. He was soaked through, cold as fuck, and two steps shy of miserable. Becket, on the other hand, was gone. Even with the storm blocked out by the somehow comforting metal hull of the Shatterdome, the bloke shuddered and stared and panted without gaining any air, seeing a kaiju almost six years dead, seeing another storm on another part of the Pacific Ocean, seeing the flash and pound and pour of the storm coming through the gaping hole where his brother had been ripped out of his own head.

Chuck didn't have to ask to know. They'd talked about it once. And only once, because even now, it was hard for Raleigh to relive that moment.

"We gotta slow down your breathin, mate." Dredging up reluctant memories of sessions he hadn't wanted to sit through in the first place, Chuck leaned close, still sheltering Becket's broad shoulders under his own, his arms still around that heaving, shuddering frame. "C'mon, Ray, with me. In... and out. Slow it down. In... and out."

_Don't tell him there's nothing to be scared of. Don't tell him everything's fine. Don't tell him to man up. And, for God's sake, do not under any circumstances blurt Yancy Fucking Becket's name._

When the hyperventilating slowed down to still-shuddering but deeper breaths, he got them both to their feet again, hauling Becket's arm up over his shoulder so he could clamp his own around the bastard's waist and get them moving. They were both soaked through and freezing, and Becket needed to get warm and fast to break the sensory input that had derailed him. He probably shouldn't move him until he calmed down more, but freezing their asses off on a catwalk wouldn't help either of them.

Okay, so maybe he'd actually paid attention in therapy, after all. Once or twice.

"You owe me for this one, ya wanker."

At least the bloke was starting to help, actually taking steps instead of just shuffling his feet and stumbling with every other lunge. Chuck took a quick glance to see if that wall-eyed panic had passed and was relieved to see that those baby blues were squinched tight against the rain still dripping out of Becket's hair instead of just staring sightlessly at the past.

"That's right, Ray. Let it pass. We'll get you dried off and warm, and you'll feel one fuck of a lot better."

That heavy arm tightened around his neck, but Chuck wasn't sure if it was in response to his words or just that Becket was finally starting to feel the cold soaking he'd taken. The bloke's lips were blue, and his teeth began to chatter. Why the hell had the wanker risked running out into the storm like that? Chuck had only wanted to blow off some steam howling into the storm. He'd have been fine after he'd cooled off, both mentally and physically.

Although he really hadn't expected it to be that... electric. Tumultuous. _Dangerous_.

In retrospect, stomping away from the table in a huff and throwing himself out into the elements had been a stupid move. But that didn't mean Becket had to come chasing after him.

He debated heading for his own bunk, then remembered what the staff therapist had said about familiar, comforting surroundings in the wake of a particularly bad attack. Grunting, he detoured toward Becket's bunk instead. Plus, an Alaskan probably had warmer stuff lying around than an Australian would.

Before his strength wore out -- he wasn't sure if it was the chill or his own adrenaline running out that sapped him so quickly -- he hauled them up the steps outside Becket's bunk, cranked open the door one-handed, and kicked it shut behind them. Pausing to take a breather, he glanced around the room and debated his next move. He was tempted to drop the shivering bastard on the bed and wrap him up in all those blankets, but it'd be useless to do that when Becket was soaked to his skin.

Grunting as the arm around his neck tightened even further and Becket's head clunked against his own as the wanker let it fall, Chuck headed for the bathroom instead. He seated the big bloke on the john, shut the door, then squatted down to work on getting the soaked boots off. The laces were wet and stubborn, but with a good deal of under-the-breath cursing, he finally managed to toss one aside.

Huddled and shivering, Becket finally spoke. "Chuck?"

He glanced up from where he was mutter-cursing at what seemed to be a quintuple knot, then paused when he realized that Becket was actually looking at him. "Yeah, mate?"

"What...?"

_Act normal. Act like this kind of thing happens every day. Don't be a dick, Chuck._

"Gotta get you in a hot shower, Ray. Your lips are blue." He forced something like his usual smirk. "Why you thought runnin out into a black signal storm was a good idea, I'll never know."

Damn near convulsing with the shivers now, Becket tried to huff a laugh that sounded too much like a sob. "Your fault. Figured you'd get blown off the roof."

The stubborn, soaked laces finally sorted themselves, and Chuck tossed aside the other boot with a little more force than was probably necessary. "Up ya go, mate."

Becket obligingly stood, his arms clamped around himself in a futile attempt to warm up. Chuck kept a hand on his elbow as he leaned down and turned the shower on almost as hot as it would go. He didn't want to make the poor bastard sick with the heat -- just warm him up fast. The little bathroom began to steam up almost immediately, and he was glad he'd remembered to shut the door.

"C'mon, then. In ya go."

"In my clothes?"

He guided without actually shoving, thankful that the rising ambient temperature meant he was warming up a bit, too. Though he couldn't wait to get out of his own boots.

At least his didn't have fucking laces.

"You can toss 'em off as you start to warm up, mate. For now, just get under the hot spray, yeah?"

No further protest as Becket edged into the heat, hissing at first until the shudders passed and he turned his face up into the spray.

"What about you?"

Shrugging, he leaned down to unbuckle his boots and tug them off. "Actually, between haulin you in here and all the steam, I might just live."

"Hm." The stupid jumper hit the shower floor with a flat slap.

"Want me to wait outside?"

"No." The answer was too fast, tinged with a hint of... desperation? "I mean--"

"'S alright, Ray. Just thought you might want some privacy."

Twitching muscle relaxed, and Chuck suddenly realized just how vulnerable Becket still felt. He didn't remember much more about the mandated therapy sessions they'd all attended, and he wasn't quite sure what to do now. But if Raleigh didn't want him to go, he probably shouldn't.

Besides, it wasn't like he had modesty issues. He'd been a Shatterdome brat half his life.

So, while Becket slowly shrugged out of his soggy gear, Chuck straight up shucked his own, tossing the clammy fabric into a pile before reaching for a towel. He scrubbed with a little more verve than usual, surprised his skin was still so chilled even in the heat pouring out of the shower cell. When he'd dried off as best he could in the damp, he scruffed at his hair, tossed aside the used towel, and wrapped up in a dry one.

"How ya doin in there, Ray?"

"Tired. Legs feel weird."

Concerned by the exhaustion in the bloke's tone, he peered around the open shower door to find Becket sagging back against the wall, head hanging. "Need some help?"

Raleigh didn't answer, so Chuck reached in and took him gently by the arm. To his surprise, Becket startled from the touch and almost pulled away, his eyes opening and focusing with the first real awareness since the thunderbolt on the roof.

"Chuck, you're freezing. You should be in here, not me."

Wide-eyed, he let himself be detoweled and hauled in as Becket sidled out. Before he could protest, his breath left him on a hiss from the damn-near scalding spray. Had he been so cold, then?

Didn't matter now. The too-hot water felt like brutal heaven all over him, and he felt tension he hadn't even been aware of flow out of him as his skin flushed from the heat. Nearly groaning as he leaned to let that glorious wash spray over his face and hair, he only briefly wondered if Becket was drying off and wrapping up warm. Maybe he should ask.

In a minute. The heat felt too damn good.

When he realized he, too, was growing tired in the muzzy warmth, he sighed and shut off the water, glad the room was still steamy. Becket slumped on the stool, Chuck's towel around his waist and his hair a scruffed-up mess. His cheeks were ruddy with the heat, but he still somehow looked pale, and the dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises.

"You alright then?"

The blue of those eyes was darker than usual, and Chuck fought the urge to sigh. He couldn't leave the bastard alone. Not like this.

"I'm okay. Here." The bloke wearily tossed the last dry towel at him. "I've got some clothes you can borrow, if you don't mind wearing pajama pants and an old sweater."

"If you don't mind loanin me your tracky dacks."

That earned him a weak grin, at least, and for the first time in easily an hour, Chuck was positive that Raleigh was back with him. Exhausted, yes, and wounded, but aware. It was more of a relief than it probably should've been, but Chuck figured anything was better than that blank, blue panic stare.

With a heavy sigh, the bloke shoved up from the toilet and opened the door, and they both shivered as the steam abandoned them for the chillier air of the main room. Becket moved a little faster toward the built-in drawers on the far wall, rummaging around and tossing the occasional article of clothing over his shoulder without looking to make sure Chuck caught them all.

As if Chuck Hansen would drop anything tossed his way.

Before long, they were both bundled up against the chill, and Chuck even consented to huddling with his former nemesis against the wall on the narrow bunk so they could both wrap up in blankets and get back the muzzy warmth from the sealed-up bathroom. Just as Chuck started to feel like a human being again, Becket broke the surprisingly comfortable silence.

"That was a panic attack, wasn't it?"

He tried and discarded several responses before settling on one. "So you slept through therapy, too, eh?"

Instead of the grin he'd half-hoped for, Becket shot him a strangely calculating glance. "I think it's pretty obvious _you_ didn't sleep through it."

He wasn't sure it was praise, but it warmed him all the same. In fact, he wasn't sure he wasn't blushing and determined that, if the wanker brought it up, he'd blame it on three layers of blankets, the ratty old jumper under that, and the PPDC-issue thermal shirt under _that_.

"Yeah, well...." Unsure what Becket expected of him, he let the thought trail off and shrugged a bit. "I take it you've not had one before?"

The intensity left those dark blue eyes, leaving the bloke an exhausted slump again as he leaned his head back against the wall. "Yeah, right after. Didn't know what they were, but I had at least a half dozen of them that first year." It was his turn to shrug. "They kinda went away after that, and I just felt... numb. Most of the time."

Uncomfortable now that he'd brought it up, Chuck tried not to fidget. "So what'd you do when you had one?"

 _Because you were all alone with no one to drag your sorry ass into a hot shower and refuse to leave you to stew in your own mental funk_ , he mentally added.

The thought brought him up short and made him really think about his own attitude since Becket showed up in the jaeger bay all those months ago. He hadn't once thought about how alone the bloke must have felt all those years on the stupid fucking Wall, how daunting it must have been to know he'd have to reopen all his wounds, to allow himself close enough to Drift all while knowing exactly how it felt to have a part of himself torn away.

And instead of showing even the slightest hint of compassion, like Herc had, Chuck had jumped right on the poor bastard's every last nerve, had deliberately taunted him, had wanted him to fail, and for what?

Raleigh Becket had saved the world. Chuck had only managed to clear the way, and even in that, he hadn't been completely successful.

He'd been an asshole. No other word for it. Even after the Breach closed, he really hadn't been much better to Becket, though he'd been trying to patch things up a bit with his father. Sometimes with indifferent success, as the blow-up at the dinner table that had sent him out into the damn storm in the first damn place showed all too clear.

"I just...."

Damn, he'd been so deep in his self-recriminations he'd forgotten his own question.

"...I guess I just shoved it all down until I didn't feel it anymore. Or until I could tell myself I didn't, anyway."

He didn't know what to say. He was an asshole. He wasn't used to all this touchy-feely talking shite, and he damn sure had no idea how to be someone's... friend.

Was that what he wanted to be? After all this time? He'd never really had a friend, he didn't think. Mako didn't count because he'd never stopped competing with her and she'd always refused to start. Tendo didn't count because, other than letting Chuck call him Elvis, they really didn't have much in common and never had.

Herc sure as hell didn't count, though the old man had sometimes tried. But things between them were always too... awkward... too close with the Drift while still being so damn far apart.

And then there was Raleigh. Who hadn't been above saving Chuck's ass after their little tiff in the hallway. Who hadn't hesitated to stand by his side while Pentecost rallied the troops for one last assault. Who had barely recovered from what Chuck strongly suspected was a few minutes of goddamn brain death thanks to oxygen deprivation and another stint piloting solo before jumping into the Pacific Ocean and swimming for what he couldn't be sure was even an escape pod at Tendo's first, hesitant suggestion.

Who had punched in and torn away the cracked safety glass when he realized Chuck's escape pod was too damaged for either working oxygen or proper opening.

Raleigh, who had followed him out onto the roof of the Shatterdome in the middle of a black signal storm so he wouldn't be trapped outside when security battened down the hatches.

Swallowing hard, he looked at the bloke who had apparently been his best mate this whole time without him even knowing it. He still didn't know what to say, but he had to say _something_.

He forced a grin. "I guess, since I was the only one listenin in therapy, you'll just have to take my word for it when I say that's no way to deal with trauma, mate."

Blue eyes slitted open and glared at him, but Becket didn't actually turn to face him.

"Ya can't avoid everything that might trigger you, yeah? Can't just turn everything off and not feel anything."

Now, that over-fluffed head of half-dried hair tilted his way, Becket's baby blues opening all the way. "It worked." But the bloke was nothing if not honest. "For a while."

This grin was more real, if a bit softer than the phony version. "'S no way to live, mate."

Raleigh didn't grin back. "Wasn't too worried about living, Chuck."

It was a stupid idea. Unfortunately, it was the only thing he could think of.

Sighing, he leaned over and kissed the wanker, paying careful attention to how that big body stiffened... but didn't pull away. Not yet. He didn't get fancy, didn't slip him the tongue. It was just... a gesture.

Maybe an offer.

After a moment, he pulled away just enough to whisper, "What about now?"

Becket swallowed hard, but still didn't pull away. "You can't kiss it and make it better, you know."

Now, he pulled away enough to open his eyes and waited for Raleigh to open his. They stared for a long time, the moment intense but not... fraught.

"Maybe not, mate." But he was still Chuck Hansen, and he was still a bastard who didn't know how to _not_ push, so he smirked a little. "At least, not tonight."

To his very great relief, Becket snorted and leaned back against the wall, not pulling away but just settling comfortably. "Better watch it, Hansen, or I'll get the idea you don't hate me."

Settling himself -- and, strangely, feeling better than he had in... maybe forever -- he grinned and shrugged off some of the blankets he didn't really need anymore. "Never hated you, ya wanker. Just didn't know what to make of ya, I reckon."

One eyebrow rose. "And now...?"

Again, he couldn't help himself. He waggled his eyebrows. "Ask me when you haven't just had a panic attack, mate."

Becket snorted again and... wonder of wonders... shifted to slump down and lean his head on Chuck's shoulder. After a quiet moment, the bloke yawned hugely and settled more heavily. "Do you mind?"

Smirking -- no, _smiling_ \-- Chuck shifted a bit to adjust his shoulder to better take on the added weight. "Not goin anywhere, Ray. Get some sleep, yeah?"

"Thanks."

The word was a bare murmur and, before Chuck decided whether or not to add anything, Becket was out cold, a dead weight against him. But Chuck didn't mind. It was a warm, solid weight, and... well... he suddenly didn't mind taking it on.

And maybe seeing if he could keep it around a while.

Still smiling, he tilted his head against Raleigh's and drifted off to sleep.


End file.
